Janet's Descent
by musashihazmat84
Summary: -sequel to Rose Tint My Shattered World- When Janet's stay at Brunton Sanitarium turns out to be more harmful than helpful, and her hormones rage out of control...


*A/N* I realize it's been a year and a half since the prequel of this story ("Rose Tint My Shattered World") was posted, but you HAVE to read it in order to understand what's going on here. This story is OUT THERE. Rated R for language, sex and anything else you rate things R for. But there is SEX (not NC-17 or anything, but up there) so if you can't handle it, don't read it. Please r/r! I know a bunch of people wanted a sequel for the first story and it took me a year, but don't worry I've got another one from this series in my head. If you want a sequel to this one you'll probably get it.

Janet's Descent

By Musashihazmat84

Sequel to "Rose Tint My Shattered World"

In the hazy air of the late spring twilight, an aura of self-confidence radiated from Jonah Cole and hovered over him like some bizarre halo. The wind lazily ruffled his auburn hair, which didn't seem to phase him; his riveting blue eyes too busy in their quest to keep her in their possession. Unable to handle the intensity of his paralyzing stare, she diverted her attention to the gold band around her left ring finger and with her thumb, she toyed with it, slowly spinning it, pondering whether if it really had tarnished in the past few months, or if she was just disenchanted.

Her name was Janet Weiss, or so she would have liked to think. Her bulging stomach reminded her of the fact that she was still married, and why she was still here—

Brunton Sanitarium. Glancing around, she could see dancing figures in the distance, jumping and screaming in incoherent ecstasy; Jonah's gaze had finally wandered; she followed it to the now lone dancing figure, a beautiful blonde woman in the mist, whom Janet looked up to and Jonah adored. She wanted to be like her, jumping, screaming, experiencing something that seemed impossible…but the blonde woman was laughing at her and Jonah; they who were coherent by society's standards. And as the mist cleared, Janet saw the blood stains on the woman's clothes, the endless rivers of blood she was dancing in, the same blood that soaked Janet's own feet. As she looked at her feet, she realized she held the murder weapon; the clear shard of glass which stained the world rose when looked through.

Holding it up, she saw the laughing carrion of the woman, and all she could do was scream…

When she woke up mid-scream, when Brad suddenly encircled her with his arms, she found she only had the energy to cry.

No matter how many people told her that it had been a suicide, no matter how much time had passed, Janet knew she was responsible, and that she'd gotten away with murder.

She and Brad had walked through the doors of the institution on that rainy day, February 23rd, now slightly over three months ago, and she hadn't been out those doors since. Only Brad had been, time and time again, until he couldn't emotionally handle the visits, and Janet was glad for that. She'd been glad for that for what seemed like forever, realizing it during the silence that grew between them while filling out the stack of papers that followed.

After Brad had left and the head nurse beckoned her to follow, all she could focus on was the intensity of those she didn't understand- the elderly woman clutching a little doll by the door to her room, reaching for Janet as she walked past- the blonde woman who hissed at her when she walked by that she was "fresh meat"- and the countless other unresponsive women in the ward.

And so she was led to her room.

Dinner that evening was an experience—Janet requested to eat in her room (one that was promptly refused) so she could distance herself from those that she did not wish to understand and those she was afraid she would become. A nearby nurse served as her shield as she walked to the common dining facilities, much like Brad had during those first few steps into the night that changed everything.

Once she reached the cafeteria, she quickly noticed that the inmates were self-segregated, clearly sorted into three groups like the primary colors. Red; the front of the room, the least coherent, the most noise, red: the light of danger. Yellow; the middle, the catatonics, the mutes, the most drool, the least dangerous: yellow was the light of caution. Blue; the back of the room, all "normal" looking, blue: the light of a calm ocean. The woman who hissed at her was here, standing out, but paled in comparison to another man at her table with hair that was a striking mixture of copper and bronze; he was nonchalantly smoking a cigarette.

To Janet, that table suddenly became the oasis of a dry desert—an oasis that seemed excitingly dangerous. In high school, most of these people were the outcasts- the same ones shunned by the clique that Janet and Brad once belonged to. Now these people were Janet's only hope of new friends, had she wanted to associate with such unpredictable and undesirable individuals.

Then again, she was here and a hypocrite if she upheld her sanctimonious views, passing judgment on her new neighbors just because of the neighborhood. Everyone here- not just her- in the back of the room had to swallow their pride and admit themselves for treatment, and that was no small feat. With everyone in the same boat, there was no room to be holier than anyone else, and for the first time, Janet and the outcasts had something in common.

Though she wasn't hungry, she was eating for two, grabbing a salad and heading to the empty table in the back of the room, where most of the others blithely ignored her, eating and gesturing with their plastic forks.

However, she realized that she wouldn't be alone for long. The blonde and the attractive man immediately got up and were venturing to her table, barely giving her enough time to think of something to say to them.

"Well, well well!" the blonde said, "If it isn't Sandra Dee!"

Janet weakly smiled. "My name is Janet Weiss—I mean Majors. Janet Majors." She still wasn't comfortable with the name, much less with them.

"I see you're new here," said the man, whose eyes smoldered with gray fire and yet were as piercing as blue shards of ice. Unable to keep eye contact, Janet focused on the woman—eyes as gray as clouds as well—as he continued. "I'm Jonah Cole, and this is Veronica Stone."

"Please, call me Vera, I don't really bite."

Earlier, Janet was almost sure she did.

The TV blared in the somewhat silent lounge. Almost everyone else was in bad, except for Janet, Jonah, and Vera.

"I don't see why you bother, Vera," said Jonah to Vera, who was painting her nails a fiery red, She cocked an eyebrow. "Don't I have a right to paint my nails?"

Janet broke her gaze from them and turned back to the TV. "I didn't say you didn't have the right, I was just wondering why. It's not like you have to impress anyone."

"Fuck you, Jonah; it's one of the few things I can do without the friggen nurses bothering me with their questions."

"Whatever floats your boat…"

Vera sighed and Janet turned around again. Vera painting her nails with the red satin liquid was more interesting than whatever stupid sitcom rerun that she had been wasting her time with.

"Janet doesn't paint her nails…" Jonah added teasingly. She slammed down the bottle of polish. "For Christ's sake, can't you ever let me do anything in peace?"

"What? I was saying…"

"Ugh, will you just shut up?" she picked up the bottle and briskly walked away.

"Lord," Jonah sighed, "who lit the fuse on her tampon?"

Janet smirked. "You aggravated her."

"I'm sick of looking at her," he said, putting his arm around her, "she'll get over it."

She slid her right hand over her left as she consciously hid her wedding band, leaning into him, thriving on the new energy of his presence. She knew, from the moment she saw him, that she was attracted to him; like a moth to a flame.

She mentally slapped herself—she had no business being here in his arms less than a week since she had left Brad's, though she had been distancing herself from him since that night when she ran to Rocky's arms for comfort. Since that night she never ran to Brad, finding that Frankie's, Rocky's, hell even the bottle's arms were more protective than his.

Over the past few days, Vera and Jonah had shown her that mental hospitals weren't really like jail, since they seemed to be having the time of their lives. Vera pranced around, poked, laughed at, and flirted with the orderlies and patients, male or female. Jonah's sarcasm came alive on every subject, like the food being more interesting than the nurses, and he basked like a lion in the sun with the attention he received from anyone who flashed him a furtive glance, but you could tell he was bored and that something was lacking from his life. Everyone liked Jonah, but he was only mildly interested and usually only directed his attention to Vera, and more recently Janet. He and Vera seemed like it was them against the world, like the only two sane people in this insane place.

Rather quickly, in the absence of alcohol, Janet's addiction shifted to Jonah, and she knew from experience that she would be spending most of her time wherever she felt best.

And, at the moment, that was in his arms.

She was jarred from her thoughts when she realized his intense stare was on her like a spotlight. "Think much?"

The TV seemed much louder than before. "What makes you say that?"

"Your eyes have more glaze than a donut. What's on your mind?"

Hearing a chuckle, she turned to Vera's previously vacant chair, her heart leaping into her throat with shock. Vera still sat there, still painting her nails, still on the same hand. Her brow furrowed. "Didn't you go to your room?"

Vera's steady hand stopped and she momentarily put the lid of the nail polish back on, pausing to pluck the smoldering cigarette form its ashtray to take a quick drag. "No, when the hell would I have had time for that? I've got everything I want out here, cigarettes, nail polish, something decent to look at."

"Ugh, you like reruns?" Jonah said.

"I wasn't talking about the boob tube, hon."

He smiled.

Janet shrugged. "I could have sworn you and Jonah got into an argument and you left."

Vera and Jonah exchanged concerned glances.

"Dear," Vera said, "You must've drifted off."

"I guess." She shook her head and looked around the dark room, illuminated only by the TV, the dim lamp from the nurses' station, and Vera's table lamp. "This place seems so different than what I expected."

Jonah tossed his head. "Well, what WERE you expecting? Screaming maniacs in straight jackets all day and all night? Not in this building."

"Mmhmm," sighed Vera, "The most sane and dead place of all."

Jonah's eyes met hers. "Comforting, isn't it?"

"Hah!"

Jonah turned to Vera, "Well, no one asked you!"

"Neither did she!" Vera said, pointing at Janet.

"Tsk tsk, Vera," Jonah said, wagging an accusatory finger at her. "Don't act like your shoe size. It isn't very becoming of you, my dear."

Vera seductively nipped at his fingertip in response before turning back to her nails, switching to the other hand.

"You never said why you're here," Janet said, meeting his gaze.

"Neither did you."

She shifted uneasily. "It's a long story—a complicated one…"

"And you're going to be telling it a lot since you're here; you may as well get used to talking about it. At least I'll treat you like an equal and not some friggen disease."

"He's got a point, " Vera said, not breaking her concentration. "He treats me like a disease though—says I have cooties!"

Janet laughed as Jonah murmured, "Yeah, good thing it's not contagious."

"Well," Janet said, "if you must know, my husband thinks I have a drinking problem." She hadn't wanted to admit it to herself that she knew, much less them.

"Eh," Vera said, "Who doesn't?" Jonah shot an annoyed glance at her; a shield of ice flying up to cover the flame of his eyes.

"So…you got stuck here," he said, his voice flat, "among a bunch of crazies, just because you like to get tipsy every once in a while? So does your run of the mill college student."

"It's not like that," she protested, "Brad put me here because…"

"Because he didn't want to deal with you. This Brad is your husband?"

Janet nodded, hearing Vera hiss, "Chump, tsk."

"Some husband," Jonah snorted. "His idea of 'in sickness and in health' is dumping you on others and locks you away. How nice of him."

"It's not like that at all."

"Yes dear," Jonah said, "It is.

Janet rapped her fingernails silently on the upholstered chair, hoping that she wouldn't have to endure Dr. Burdick much longer. Vera told her that the preliminary appointment with a new doctor was always the worst; the first doctor Janet had seen had assigned her to Dr. Burdick, who asked the same questions as the last; how are you feeling; why do you drink, etc. Both of those questions always seemed to have the same answer: "I don't know."

In truth, Janet knew very well that it was just the opposite, that that night in November was the sole reason for everything; every problem she had with everything and everyone. Or rather, everyone's problem with her.

Dr. Burdick looked at her clipboard and frowned. "It says here that you are three months pregnant."

Janet nodded.

"Hmm," Burdick sighed, "That puts you in a rather fragile position here. I'm not so sure I would agree with your husband's decision in placing you here."

"It's not his."

Burdick's eyes met hers. "That's the most definite thing you've said all morning, and yet I'm not sure I know what you're talking about. What's not his?"

"The baby."

"Ah…I…I see. Mmm, you've helped me a great deal in figuring out where some of your problems may lie…" She was looking at the clipboard again, as if she really hadn't heard anything Janet had said in the past few minutes. She shifted uneasily in the stiff chair.

"Who is the father, Janet?"

"I don't know."

"Yet you're sure it's not your husband's? How can you be so sure?"

"Brad and I…" her voice faltered. How was she supposed to talk about her sex life with a total stranger?

"Brad and you what?"

_Talk about it like Vera would._

She spat, "Brad and I never _fucked_."

Burdick showed no emotion, but Janet must've paled in her own shock that she'd said it; just like that. With a metallic taste rising up in the back of her mouth, some small sense of triumph rose within her as well. Burdick looked at the clock.

"I'm sorry, but that will have to be all for today."

Janet picked at her salad with the plastic fork. "How do I tell Burdick about the father of my child, Vera?"

Vera sipped her water. "How are all children conceived. You fucked him. Tell her that."

Janet frowned.

"What, not interesting enough?" Jonah asked, "Tell her you think you're the Virgin Mary, or that Satan raped you."

"Yeah, I suppose then she'd have a reason to be here like the rest of us," Vera said.

Janet's brows creased downward. "What did you mean by that?"

Vera opened her mouth to speak, but Jonah silenced her. "Vera, don't. You promised."

"Promised what?"

Vera lit a cigarette. "Promised that I wouldn't say that I don't think Miss Goody Goody belongs here."

"Oh, Jesus, Vera!"

"Oh, shut it Jonah!

He glared at her; Janet turned away, feeling the suffocating awkward blanket of silence fall over the table like a collapsed tent.

"Oh, fuck this." Vera's chair screeched across the floor; Janet watched her sashay down the aisle. "I didn't realize she hated me…" she said quietly.

"She doesn't," Jonah said matter-of-factly; "She's jealous that you seem to have less problems than her…what she would give to be in your shoes…"

"What I would give to be in hers…" It slipped from her lips before she realized she'd thought it.

Jonah's eyebrows arched. "Would you, now?"

Janet looked away.

"That's what I thought."

Janet wouldn't have half-minded if he would clue her in as to what she was thinking, either.

Over the next few weeks, Janet's meek self began to fade away, but only after she realized that the only place for her "prim and proper" views was in the past. And the past was dead, though the memories—and consequences—were not.

In her visits with Brad, Janet saw that his survival vitally depended on the power of denial. That late November evening didn't happen. That child was his. Their sex life was great. She wasn't committed; she just needed a rest.

Because his life was based on a lie that Janet had to uphold, her life was therefore a lie—and she didn't want it to be.

Yes, that night had changed everything. It taught her the difference between Love and Lust; between Love and Practicality. Now Jonah was awakening the lessons she had learned that night but buried that morning—during the peaks of which she was in absolute ecstasy. Brad didn't have the charisma Frankie had. Brad didn't have the passion for life, sex, drugs, creativity, anything that Frankie had. Frankie was the Queen, the King, the Everything; Brad was just a groupie-turned-accountant.

Brad's visits pockmarked an otherwise nice day, and Janet soon began to dread htem, and dreaded even more the day that she would have to return to play house. Brunton Sanitarium, with its white walls and endless corridors, came to look more and more like home with each passing day. And being near Jonah was more comfortable that being near Brad, even if Brad didn't talk and they just sat there in complete silence, such as today.

Brad checked his watch, after a long, awkward moment of silence. "When are you coming home, Janet?"

She repressed the urge to say Never.

"It's just that…" he trailed off, gesturing helplessly with his hands, "I want to know if this place is helping you."

She opted for silence to be her answer.

He looked away. "Good bye, Janet. I'll be back next week." With a kiss on her forehead, he promptly left the room.

Rubbing the kiss away, Janet muttered, "Finally."

For those who had been at Brunton for a significant fraction of their lives, the late-night routine checks became just another thing, and more didn't even wake up when the only nurse on duty opened the door. However, Janet always knew, almost always woke up, and if she didn't then they would appear in her dreams.

Janet knew the nurse's routine so well that she knew the nurse would indulge in gossip with the nurse downstairs between two and three AM; mainly because Brunton just was a relatively quiet place—or at least her building was. Half the time Jonah would clue them in on the gossip. Every time the nurse walked down the hall, the clicking of her heels roused Janet form her light slumber, and she would watch her pass by the window of her door.

This particular night, Vera passed by not five minutes later. It wasn't the first time Janet had caught Vera sneaking around after the nurse on duty went downstairs. She always snickered that "the two dykes were conducting and affair"—in any case the nurses were definitely preoccupied. And Janet decided to follow Vera, sick of being left out of the fun.

Vera padded silently down the hall, the sure sign that she'd done this many, many times before. Janet moved not so gracefully, and had to wait when she saw Vera move into the stairwell, where she would surely catch her if they were there at the same time. Watching her head disappear beneath the stairs from the window, Janet knew immediately where she was going—to Jonah's room.

Minutes passed before she mustered enough courage to open the door and tiptoes to the floor below, to the men's ward that she was rarely allowed in.

Once in the hall, all Janet was aware of was the light laughter of the nurses, and the smell of their cigarettes wafting down the dim corridor; Vera was nowhere in sight, though Janet was sure that for all her stealth, she hadn't passed by the nurses' station.

One by one, she peeked in the dark windows, nearly all of which revealed troubled sleepers or dead ones; Jonah's room drew her in like a moth to flame.

In the light of the full moon shining through the window, Janet saw them; passion's slaves savagely devouring each other as if the sun had just disappeared, as in a silent movie, like a choreographed dance rather than the raw physical act it was, and watching them became mesmerizing. With the moonlight casting web-like shadows through the wire mesh windows, the two danced as spiders would to the dance of death for their prey.

_In another dimension, with voyeuristic intention… _

As she watched Jonah's hands flutter over the satin bra, massaging her, she could feel Frankie again; she could feel Rocky doing the same—all she had to do was close her eyes and she was there again. _So this was the Time Warp._

Opening her eyes, once creature of the night observed the others, and the wheels in her head began to spin out of control in ways she hadn't felt in months…

_Well secluded, I see all._

Janet never let on that she'd seen Jonah and Vera that night, nor was she overcome with jealousy of Vera. All it did was remind her of the night in the castle, where sex and voyeurism ran rampant, and by sun up, no one was jealous of anyone else. If ghosts could guide the living, Frankie was surely with her now. Night after night, Janet watched them, and, eagerly counting the days, she knew what she would do once Vera's "friend" came to visit again. She knew her cycle.

However, prime time had nearly come and gone before Janet mustered up the courage to do it, and she couldn't wait another month—she was beginning to show.

Her heart pounded that night when she'd decided to go through with it; it pounded as it did when she watched Jonah and Vera; it pounded as it did when she and Frankie did the same in the same, feverish manner.

The nurse clicked by; Janet leapt to the door—it was now or never, and never if she couldn't get her act together. It had been too long since she'd tasted blood; she knew not whether she still possessed the weapon to strike a new wound, but thinking of overthrowing Vera and making this her castle gave her strength. She could be the Queen, the Everything…if only she could open her door.

A small push, and the door was open, and she was slinking down the hall, down the stairs. All fear left her when she saw Jonah, replaced by curiosity, desire, and confidence that he would be hers in just a few moments.

Silently slipping under the covers with him, she captured his sleeping mouth with hers, and as he awakened, she traced his chest with her light kisses…

"It's over, Vera?"

"Mmhmm." She silenced him with another kiss as his hands flew over her sides, like a moth trying to escape from the spider's web, caressing her sides under her shirt, leaving tingling trails in their wake; she didn't protest when he slid her shirt over her head in the darkness.

Her hands trembled as she unbuttoned his shirt, unable to concentrate on the simple task; his fiery palm outlining the circles of her breasts…

She hadn't realized she'd moaned his name until he froze.

"You," he growled.

She smiled coyly, straddling him. "Yes, I'm afraid so…but isn't it nice?" She kissed him, easing him back as Frankie had her…

"No…this must be a dream…"

"Don't dream it," she whispered, "Be it."

With those simple words, his hands resumed their dangerous crash course, his kisses trailing along her collarbone, down…

Engulfed by a blinding light, the would-be lovers squinted in pain; then came the hiss.

"You…Fucking…BITCH!"

Opening their eyes, both turned to the owner of the voice—no one else but Vera, standing in the doorway.

"Vera, wait," Jonah said, "It's not what it looks like…"

"Shut the fuck up!" she screamed as Janet pulled her shirt on.

"You fucking whore…I hope you enjoyed this night…" As quickly as she showed up, she left.

Janet landed on the floor before she realized Jonah had thrown her. "Who the fuck do you think you are!?"

Down the hall, glass shattered with screams and running to follow; Jonah flew out into the hall as the others rose in slow motion from the woodwork, bogged down by the sleep in their eyes; Janet joined the parade of zombies, numbly coming to a standstill in the crowd that had formed at the other end of the hallway. Once there, she realized she was wearing Jonah's shirt.

The bloody, jagged remains of the window of the nurses station were visible before anything, anyone else—and Janet and Jonah knew who from the second they'd heard the glass. She forced her way through the crowd, only to be met with a growing puddle of blood streaming from the gaping hole in Vera's neck; dripping from the shard of glass in her hand.

Janet had to leave Brunton. She knew it from the moment she heard the shattering glass.

With arrangements made quickly to find a psychiatrist for her in Denton, she would be back in her apartment for the first time in more than a month by sundown.

She hadn't seen Jonah all day, doubting that she would ever see him again. In a way she was glad, for now he was nothing but a reminder—of her infidelity, the crazy show she put on, and the death that both of them were partially responsible for.

When Brad showed up, oblivious to her role in the previous night's events, they embraced as if they hadn't seen each other in years. She clung to him, as if he were the last shred of sanity on this Earth, and all they could say was "I'm sorry" over and over again. And they each cried, though for different reasons, and in that simple act they were the closest they had ever been.

The End


End file.
